


i want it to be you (worth the risk)

by dust_and_gold



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Porn, Post 2x09, Rescue, straight up unapologetic porn, this started as one thing and turned into sex because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_and_gold/pseuds/dust_and_gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post. 2x09. Clarke, racked with guilt after Bellamy is captured and tortured inside Mt Weather, teams up with the Grounders, takes back the Mountain, and rescues her people. But it's Clarke alone who finds and rescues Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want it to be you (worth the risk)

**Author's Note:**

> Post 2x09 aka how I totally hope this storyline resolves but how it totally won't. I was just really traumatized by "It's worth the risk" and needed to pretend it will all end with sex and Bellarke-ness.
> 
> Pretend it's realistic that Clarke is wandering Mt. Weather completely by herself and assume that Bellamy was fucking glorious and brave and never broke under torture and that Octavia gave Clarke MAD ATTITUDE about what Clarke did to her brother. also this is my first time ever writing porn andddd i feel like i just became a woman

Clarke’s vision tunneled. Her heart was a bird that would rocket right out of her chest and up through her mouth. And she realized just then how stupid, how completely _stupid_ it had been to think for a moment that she could do this—that she could go without love. That love was a weakness she could avoid if she just shoved hard enough and climbed high enough. But you can’t avoid what you already have.

Which is why Clarke Griffin burst into tears at the sight of Bellamy Blake trapped in a cage.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the strangled, squeaking sound had already escaped her. He whipped his head up. When he saw her, he blinked. Hard. Stared at her like he wasn’t quite sure if she was a hallucination or not. One corner of her brain wondered if that was ironic or not. Maybe they were the same sort of person, she and Bellamy—haunted people who saw an endless parade of guilt-born ghosts soaked in blood wherever they went. Maybe they were both the kind of people whose minds made prisoners of themselves.

His face was carved with shadows, and there were new scars that echoed the crescent on his cheek. Her tears streamed faster. There was something so ferociously wrong about Bellamy Blake of all people in a cage _,_ trapped and hunched over and weaponless and powerless and—and not by her side. He was a knight, a rebel king. _Her_ rebel king.

She did this to him.

Clarke took one trembling step forward. “Bellamy.”

She’d spent fruitless hours trying to predict his reaction to her coming to his rescue, full of _sorries,_ and failing. She’d expected anger, or relief, or one of those rare wonder smiles of his that made the goddamn clouds evaporate in the sky. What she hadn’t expected was for a look of unmitigated horror to cross his face.

“No.” Bellamy seized the bars. “What the—what the _hell_ are you doing here?!”

She tried to suck the tears back in, wipe them from her cheeks, and assume princess mode, but somehow it was harder now. “What do you think?”

“You have to get out of here. Now.” His head whipped around, frantic, as he scanned the walls for threats. “Clarke, they will kill you. Get out. The others are one level below. Save them and get the hell out of here.”

“No,” she said.

He rattled his door. “Damn it, Clarke, you can’t be here! They’re going to be back any second—”

“Be quiet and back up.”

“ _Clarke_ ,” he said, raggedly, like he was begging her to understand. “ _They will kill you_.”

She hefted Miller’s big ass hammer and swung. Bellamy reeled back as the mallet crashed against the lock and shattered it. Clarke threw herself to her knees, wrenched the cage door open, and practically toppled inside. The space was cramped and rancid, and the grate dug into her back. But she was close to Bellamy now, and didn’t care.

“It’s worth the risk,” she said.

She watched the words sink into him, like a weight hitting his chest. Bellamy’s lips parted. His brows drew together and quirked up, and Clarke thought she could drown herself in the look in his dark eyes and be perfectly happy in death.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him free of the cage, horrified when he staggered.

“Oh God.” By instinct she ran her hands across his torso, up his sides, and around his back, checking for wounds. “You’re hurt. What did they do to you? Where are you hurt?”

His hands gripped her wrists. “What are you _doing?_ ”

“I’m checking you for damage!” She meant to sound fierce, but her voice broke. They’d tortured him. She could see it in the shadows beneath his dark eyes, and it was her fault.

He shook his head hard. “Stop a moment. How did you…I don’t…” He looked frustrated, broken. “Clarke. _Why?_ ”

Clarke had never seen him stunned like this. She’d hardly ever seen him lost for words or anything other than completely focused on survival. Except for that haunted night in the woods. _I’m a monster_ , he’d said, blood on his face and in his heart. _I need you_ , she’d said back, and meant it.

And now it seemed like the reverse. Like _she_ was the monster here, someone made of ice who could be so cruel as to shove him into a suicide mission. He had needed _her_ , and she’d thrust his bruised and torn-up heart at him like it was poisonous.

She’d hurt him so badly that he could barely Bellamy right now.

“I changed my mind.” She brushed her hand up the nape of his neck and into his hair, wincing when she found blood.

His breath caught. “I don’t—understand.”

“Love is a strength,” she whispered.

There was that look again, that blinking, staggered look, and she realized just how close they were, and how very _present_ he seemed to be with so much of his weight leaning on her.

His knuckles tipped her scraped chin up. “You’re bleeding. God, Clarke, you shouldn’t have come here.”

“I told you it was worth the risk.”

“But it’s _not_ ,” he said, almost angrily, though his touch on her jaw was gentle. “You’re the leader, Clarke. You’re our Commander. If something happened to you—”

“Nothing will.” She seized his face in both hands, pulling his gaze down so it pinned her. She felt suddenly steadier, surer. Her thumb skimmed his crescent scar. “Not while you’re with me. And vice versa.” An almost smile touched her lips. “From now on, we make the rules, remember?”

His brows were still knotted tight. He looked so adorably, completely confused. “And what are the rules?”

Her roaming doctor’s hands found a cut on his temple. He hissed in pain. She was up on her toes, her chest pressed against his, and he was shaking.

She moved even closer until her breath was on his lips. “I rule that I stop being an idiot.”

She pressed her mouth to his, and with a quickness she found equal parts alarming and thrilling, he melted against her. Bellamy’s hands wound around the back of her neck. He was so weak that she could feel his trembling, and the full weight of him sort of collapsed against her, buckling her knees. But she held him upright, even as together they staggered backwards and slammed into a wall of cages.

From somewhere far above there came an echoing _boom._

He wrenched away from her, eyes wide. “What did you _do?”_

She lifted her chin, anger hardening in her chest. “I went to war on the mountain. And I destroyed it.”

The sideways smile that slid across his face was pure pride. “You know, most girls just get guys flowers, or something.”

She reached into the bag she’d dropped and handed him a gun. “I figured this was better than flowers.”

She gripped his un-armed hand and tugged him out of the room. They had to outrun the water that was, at this very moment, flushing every Mountain Man out of Mt. Weather. She, Octavia, and the Grounders still loyal to Lexa had placed Raven’s explosive at strategic points in the dam and set the river free.

Water sloshed through the hallways at ankle height. Bellamy staggered.

“Clarke,” he said, “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” she said fiercely.

“I can’t outrun it, and you know it. We’ll have to head for higher ground.”

She ran over the map in her head frantically. Suddenly she remembered the perfect place, but they’d have to hit the stairwell that led to the roof quickly, or they’d be trapped.

“Okay.” She wrapped his arm around her shoulders and seized his waist. “Follow me.”

“Always, princess.”

_Clarke? CLARKE?_

“Octavia!” Relief pounded through Clarke’s body, and she snatched her radio and pressed it to her lips. “Where are you?”

_I’m outside with Jasper and Monty and the rest! Where are you? Where’s Bellamy?_ Octavia’s voice was wild with panic.

“We’re heading for higher ground!” she shouted.

_We?_

“I think there’s someone who’d like to talk to you,” Clarke said, and palmed Bellamy the radio.

Clarke tried to ignore the heartfelt conversation happening just beside her and focused on finding a place to ride this out. She pulled Bellamy, who was flagging fast, up the tunnel, water thundering past their knees, and realized they’d never make the roof.

And then she saw it. There was a ladder built into the side of the tunnel that led to a hatch above. She and Bellamy ran, lopsided and all tangled up, and she pushed towards the ladder.

He shook his head. “You go.”

“No time!” She pushed him again, half-supporting his weight as he climbed. Gasping, soaked, and exhausted, she wriggled through the hatch and slammed it closed behind her.

They were in a very small, dimly lit space. And then it was made all the smaller as Bellamy yanked her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, as they fell together messily and totally. His head buried in her curls. It reminded her forcefully of their hug, and she felt the same kind of desperation and relief now. Every nerve in her body awakened, lit on fire, and she gripped his sides so hard he gasped. She was about to apologize, but then his lips were on hers, fierce and hungry.

He groaned, full and deep, and she let his tongue in. She thrust her hand through curls. His teeth nipped her bottom lip, the curve of her ear, the dip of her neck. She heard a _rip_ as the sodden rag that was her shirt turned to ribbons in his hands, and she found herself vaguely wondering how she was going to explain _that_ when they joined the others and realized she didn’t care at all.

His lips burned against the hollow of her collarbone and the rise of her breasts. The sound she made was high and ragged. She clawed at his shirt, freeing his strong brown back and arms. They were striped with wounds.

“Oh, God.” She swallowed back tears, ran her hand along a puckered scar on his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He cupped her cheek, fingers curled around the back of her neck.

She leaned down and kissed his scar. His breath caught.

“Clarke,” he whispered, so deep and quietly she felt is reverberate through her bones.

She pushed him down against the ground and straddled him. She pressed kisses up the line of his shoulder, traveling to his neck and along his jaw and back to his mouth. He yanked her into his stomach by her thighs. The contact of him between her legs made sparks shoot through her veins. She pressed again, and again, and the sound Bellamy let out made her feel half wild.

His fingers went to the waist of her pants. She tore off her bra in the least graceful manner possible, but she couldn’t be embarrassed because suddenly his mouth was against her nipple. His tongue was like a feather, wrapping around her until her nerves sand, and he brushed his thumb against the other until it hardened. She arced her head back, seeing stars.

He flipped her so her back was against the floor and tugged her pants and underwear down.

“You too,” she said, voice so hoarse she hardly recognized it. She watched, wanting to memorize his every movement, as he unbuttoned and zipped and dragged. His bare body was so much that her vision nearly blurred. Her pulse was a wild, mad thing. She reached for his hips, pulling him flush with her, feeling the hard expanse of his abs press against her. She wrapped her thighs around him, and he cupped her breast, hard.

His mouth linked with hers, and she could feel his skin hot and slick against her. She felt like a million flares sizzling and burning and waiting to go off.

Bellamy took her breast in his mouth again, licked until she panted, and kissed a trail down her stomach. Her muscles contracted, toes curling, and a shiver rippled across her skin. His hand smoothed down her thighs, parting them, and then he honed in on where she wanted him most, his fingers slipping easily through her wetness. She gasped and jolted, but his body pinned her down, lips fierce against hers. His thumb pressed against her clit as his fingers pumped in and out. She swore her heart had wings and her blood was made of lightning. It was going so fast. Her spine arched off the ground, her head falling back, and she seized his hair.

Just when she was on the edge, she stopped him.

He looked bewildered, eyes slightly unfocused, hair sticking up every which way.

“No. You.” Clarke pushed him down and pressed a slow, full kiss to the length of him. His entire body shuddered. She shifted so she was on top and straddling him. He was so beautiful he nearly hurt to look at, slick with her sweat and shadowed with muscles. “I want it to be you.”

She rolled her hips so he slid inside her. She gasped.

“Fuck,” he whispered, biting his lip, and the sight of it made something mad awaken inside her. She curved her body down and bit it too, pulling it into her mouth. He kneaded her breasts until her skin came completely alive. She bucked her hips, over and over, and it was like someone had lit a match deep inside her. Bellamy grabbed her waist, dug his fingers in the skin of her back, and she burned from the inside out. The pressure built and built and her gaze turned white.

She moved to the rhythm of his jagged breaths and the frantic, living thunder of her heart. Everything she knew and felt and tasted was _him._ He said her name, said it into her hair and against her skin like a secret, and she had never heard her name said like that before. The rushing burn built inside her until her exploded, ignited, burst like the dam she’d released. Several moments later he shuddered, seizing her hips as a strangled sound ripped out of him.

Slowly, panting, they unwound. Their bare legs slipped against each other, and Clarke shivered again. She pressed her face into his chest as her pulse and breaths evened out. His arm wrapped around her, fingers stroking her hair. Fear battered on the edges of her mind, and part of her was tempted to give into it and pull this moment apart in her thoughts. But then Bellamy’s lips pressed to her forehead, and she closed her eyes and snuggled in deeper.


End file.
